


Short and sweet/Short and sour

by Julie_Anne



Category: Maurice (1987), Maurice - E. M. Forster
Genre: A walk in the park, All lovers quarrel, B.M. (Before Malta), Class Issues, Counting one's blessings, M/M, Roses, War around the corner, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-10-09 10:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10410186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Julie_Anne/pseuds/Julie_Anne
Summary: Little stories that don't really go anywhere  and can be read as standalones.





	1. To fight and make up

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing these to the sound of Boccherini's «Musica notturna delle strade di Madrid» (Op30 n.6), so maybe they should be read with the same musical background. I always imagine the lively violins and violas to be Alec, and the soothing cello to be Maurice, although sometimes they switch.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's so good to make up after a bit of a fight...

Maurice looked down at his hands. Hard work was proving harder than he had expected. Both his hands were a mess, completely butchered; it was even painful to flex his fingers. Wincing, he put his work gloves back on. Looking up for a moment, he could see Alec’s bent back just ahead. He was shovelling earth as if the whole mound they were supposed to shift had personally offended him. Alec was in one of his moods. They had quarrelled over some stupid thing none of them could remember, and hadn’t said a word to each other all morning.

They worked all day side by side, in stubborn, cold silence. Maurice knew better than to try to make up too soon. When the whistle blew at five o’clock, he hadn’t given their quarrel a thought. He knew Alec’s moods and he knew it wouldn’t last. It upset him a little, but he had grown accustomed to it. He worked, head empty, all attention focused on each movement, on his hands, and on the pain. It was a dull, sickening pain, but concentrating on it made time pass faster. He stretched, trying to ease the ache on his back and shoulders. A husky, low voice close to his ear startled him.

\- Maurice?

He looked back. Alec, sweaty and filthy, just as he knew he was himself, was looking at him with hungry eyes.

\- Not here… - he whispered back – There’s people watching…

They had a room in a shabby boarding house, and walked in silence for the ten minutes it took to get there. At the door, they conferred what each one had to do, to avoid having to go up and down the stairs more than needed. Alec fetched hot water from the common kitchen; Maurice went around the corner to get a couple of big baked potatoes with cheese for supper.

Once inside their room, Alec took just the time to put the hot water jugs safely next to the fireplace before turning to hold Maurice as if his life depended on it.

\- I am sorry! I don’t want to quarrel! – he said passionately, his breath hot on Maurice’s neck.

Maurice, holding two very hot baked potatoes wrapped in three layers of brown paper in his right hand, warned:

\- Be careful, you’ll burn yourself… – and set the parcel on the table, his left arm around Alec – I don’t want to quarrel either. I can’t even remember what we fought about, to tell the truth.

He held Alec closer, then cupped his face in his hands and kissed him lightly.

\- Let’s wash first. We’re so dirty it is probably dangerous to kiss.

He had some difficulty getting rid of his work clothes; his hands felt throbbing and clumsy. Alec helped him. Then, taking Maurice’s hands, he looked at them almost in tears:

\- Look at your poor hands! I don’t know how you can even move them, they look so hurt!

\- It’s taking longer than I thought it would, but they will get better in time. Don’t fret over it! Come, let’s wash, the water is getting cold and so is supper.

They helped each other wash, for there was little hot water and it took some skill to get clean on such a short supply. Afterwards they sat on their bed, eating their baked potatoes and playfully teasing each other.

\- We ought to get some sleep… - Maurice said, running a finger over Alec’s lips only to stop at the corner of his mouth – You’ve got a bit of cheese there.

Alec licked the bit of cheese, and nibbled at his friend’s finger, muttering:

\- Hmmm, yes, I guess we ought to… You know, you don’t taste that bad… I could have a bit of you for supper. Kind of side dish…

Maurice smiled. That was his Alec back, no sulk.

\- Let’s get under the covers. Shall I turn out the light?

Alec gave him one of his falsely shy looks, eyelashes halfway down, brown eyes glinting behind.

\- No, leave the light on, I want to look at you.

Oh, Alec! He knew the power of those words. They got out of their pyjamas under the covers. It was cold outside.

Later, as Maurice turned out the light and they curled up together, Alec whispered softly, holding Maurice’s hand to his chest to let him feel his heart beating.

\- You feel so good! I don’t want us to fight, not anymore. I wouldn’t know what to do without you…

Maurice held him snugger, grunting like a contented puppy, drowsy.

\- Maurice…?

\- Hmmm?

\- Tell me…

\- I love you.

\- Again…

\- I love you.

\- The other thing…

\- My Alec…

\- My Maurice… I love you too.


	2. Feeding the birds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec has a few suprises up his sleeve. Here's one.

It was Sunday, they had no work and it was sunny.

\- Let’s go to the park. – Alec proposed.

\- Is there even a park? – Maurice doubted.

\- I’m pretty sure there is a park. There is always a park. Wait, bring a bit of bread and we’ll feed the pigeons. – and he stuffed a large piece of bread in his pocket.

They went out and simply followed the families with children to find the park, because there was a park. It was small and a bit dismal, but had trees, grass, purple crocuses and golden daffodils, a small fountain, wooden benches to sit and, of course, pigeons.

\- How did you know there would be pigeons?

Alec laughed.

\- There’s always pigeons where there is people. Pigeons and sparrows are like mice and rats. They know that where there’s people there’s food, so they follow.

They sat on a bench and Alec crumbled a bit of bread on the palm of his hand. Pigeons approached.

\- See? – he gloated – Pigeons are always hungry… It’s a bird thing.

He scattered a few crumbs, and the pigeons began to peck frantically. A few sparrows tried their luck as well but were expelled at once. Maurice looked at all that in amazement.

\- The things you know…

\- One has to know birds to be a gamekeeper. It’s part of the work.

He carefully scattered a few more crumbs, closer to their feet this time. The pigeons looked up, still pecking.

\- Don’t move… - Alec whispered – Be as quiet as you can and I’ll show you something…

Moving so slowly it was hardly noticeable, he took another piece of bread from his pocket, crumbled it on his other hand and rested the open hand, palm up, on his knee. Pigeons were flying into the park, approaching the bench, pecking away at the scattered crumbs.

Then, one of them flew up to Alec’s hand and began eating. Maurice shivered with the surprise and the bird flew away.

\- They won’t hurt you. Try to stay quiet or they’ll stay away. They are town birds, but they are still wild creatures. – Alec whispered without moving a muscle.

\- I know they will not hurt me. I just wasn’t expecting it. Sorry. – Maurice whispered back.

The pigeon flew up again to eat from Alec’s hand. Another joined him, and then a third settled upon Alec’s leg to eat too.

\- Maurice – Alec whispered, so low it’s was barely audible – Hold out your hand, very slowly…

Maurice obeyed, a bit doubtful. Alec put a few crumbs on his open palm and soon a pigeon landed there to eat. Maurice was so quiet he was nearly forgetting to breathe. The bird’s feet were very soft, warm, and quivering slightly.

\- It’s warm…! – he gasped.

\- Of course, the bird’s alive! Had you never touched a living bird before?

\- No… - Maurice answered in wonder.

Moving again with the utmost care, Alec let the crumbs in his hand fall to the ground. The pigeons followed. Slowly, he placed both hands around the pigeon still pecking crumbs on Maurice’s hand and caught it.

\- There. Don’t worry, little fellow, I will not put you in a pie. Cup your hands, Maurice… That’s right. Now, I’m going to put it there, real gently. Hold firm, but don’t squeeze the bird, all right?

Maurice did as he was told. It was a very nice feeling, holding the warm living bird in his hands. He could feel the pigeon’s quick heartbeat. The bird just sat there. He could not move, so he was quiet. Only his head turned around, looking at both men with his bright beady eyes.

\- Now to let him go, you open hands and throw him slightly upwards… that’s it, there he goes! You liked that, didn’t you?

He was beaming. They kept on scattering bread crumbs, and the birds, both pigeons and sparrows kept arriving, chasing one another, and coming back to eat. Though it was only early spring, the bench they sat on was on a sunny spot and quite warm, and it felt good to sit there in the sun and watch the birds eating.

\- Look at that one… - Alec drew his attention to one big male pigeon doing a kind of dance around a smaller female – He’s courting her. See how he’s all puffed up? Looks just like a fellow I once met, all high and mighty. **“So you’ll only take gold!”**

Maurice looked down, felling his face hot and flushed.

\- Oh, Alec, don’t!

\- I was only joking… Look, he’s trying to take her under his wing… That sounds a lot like **“Sleep the night with me. I know a place.”**

Maurice laughed.

\- I wonder – he said in a very low voice – if male pigeons ever go after one another…

\- Of course they do. Not nearly as often as the other thing, but they do… - he stood up – Come, let’s get a hot pie for lunch.

\- Not pigeon pie though…

\- No – Alec laughed – Definitely not pigeon pie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bits in bold lettering belong to E. M. Forster and were taken from my very worn 1987 Penguin Edition.


	3. Rainy day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Work was scarce. They had to take what they could find...

Rainy winter days in town were pure misery. There was not much work outdoors in the heavy rain. Only, to Alec and Maurice no work would mean no pay. They might have enough for a couple of days, but no more than that, so they couldn’t afford not to work. They had to pay weekly for their room and for the coal, and they needed at least one meal a day. They had to look around for other things to do, and the competition was fierce. All things considered, it was bad.

It had been raining steadily for over a week now. Work was scarce. They had to take what they could find, and that day it was scullery work in some fancy hotel. They were living in some town by the shore then and the hotel was suddenly understaffed. So, scullery work it was. Peeling potatoes, and carrots, and onions, scrubbing pots and pans since men were deemed too rough to care for chinaware. Being ordered around by all the kitchen staff and never seeming to satisfy any of them. And in the end, after a day of gruelling work, they were given a makeshift supper, and stingily paid. They were told to return the following day at noon.

\- Breakfast and lunch are covered, but someone is throwing a dinner party, so there’ll be plenty of vegetables to prepare, errands to run, pots and pans to scrub…

After that, they walked back to their room under the rain. They were both tired, cold, hungry and wet. Their coats and caps probably would still be damp in the morning, in spite of the fire Alec kindled as soon as they entered the room.

\- Well, - he said, trying to sound bright – at least we paid the rent and the coal for the week. Still it was a lousy day and they pay quite badly. That’s servant work for you…

Maurice was silent. He had taken out his wet clothes, dried his drenched hair with a towel and put on his pyjamas, but still he felt no comfort in the change. He felt cold, numb, and stupid. They had been walking or standing almost all day. He sat on the bed, his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him.

\- Maurice…?

There was no answer. Maurice was staring blindly at the wall, his mind in a turmoil. He had never given a thought at how servants felt. It had never crossed his mind. He remembered vaguely Alec complaining about Clive’s mother not knowing his name although she’d given him orders daily for months, but now he thought about it he could not remember the names of any of his mother’s servants. Only George but he had been very young back then.

His ears were still ringing with the shouted orders and the scolding he’d heard all day long. Everyone had been rude and inconsiderate with them, treated them as if they were a little less human for being at the bottom of the ladder. He had not even been able to answer, for fear that his accent might call unwanted attentions.

\- You there, what’s your name, you big blond fellow! Carry this coal upstairs; the maids will need it soon. Hurry back, mind you! There’s potatoes to peel!

\- Don’t you even dare to touch the potatoes before washing! What on earth have you been doing, carrying coal?

\- Aren’t those onions done yet? Cook is about to have a fit!

\- Do you call this clean? Who hired you, you clumsy brute?

Exhaustion made him confused, yet he had that much clear: he had been treated as a servant the whole day and that was what it felt like. Other people see you as a machine to carry coal, scrub pots, and peel potatoes. You are no longer a man. He had been all right so far with being poor and working hard. But this was different. He felt degraded.

Alec could read him as clearly as an open book. He had seen the tempest building up during the day, Maurice’s blue eyes turning grey like storm clouds. A man shovelling earth, carrying bricks or unloading a truck, can still hold his head high, be his own man, and be proud, no matter how badly his work is paid. However, he cannot if he’s hired as a scullery boy. That’s the bottom, really, he’s bossed around by everyone. Oh, Maurice! He sat beside his friend and gently tried to take his hand, but Maurice wouldn’t let him.

\- Maurice, you don’t have to go again tomorrow. It’s too hard on you, I know. I’ll go, I don’t mind the work. You stay and rest. – his voice was low, soft, tentatively soothing.

He looked up. Maurice was still staring blindly, his eyes grey and unfocused.

\- The room is paid, they’ll give me supper same as they did today, and I’ll bring you dinner. There’s still some tea, and bread. I think there is even some jam left, and cheese, we can have a late breakfast. – his tone was now subdued, sensing the pain, the shame, the humiliation Maurice was feeling.

Alec couldn’t stand inaction. Therefore, he acted. He kissed Maurice’s cold hand and got up. He tended the fire to make sure it would keep the room at least mildly warm. Carefully, he made Maurice lie down and get under the covers. He put out the light and got into bed. Maurice had his back turned to him. They usually slept the other way round, but tonight Alec would have to play big spoon. His friend was cold, miserable and confused and it was up to him to do his best. Maurice needed him. He pressed himself as close to Maurice as he could, hugged him and softly whispered all the endearments he could think of.

Maurice lay there, feeling the warmth of Alec’s body envelop him. It was a comforting feeling, and his heart softened for a moment; that was Alec, his warmth, his smell, his voice… In a moment, though, all good went away, washed by a great wave of sadness, self-pity, and self-loathing. He couldn’t say what was worse, having experienced how it felt or knowing he had once been on the other side and treated people like that. He stubbornly refused to be comforted. Alec still held him, nonetheless. Gradually, weariness took over and they slept. Alec deeply, Maurice only lightly.

In the middle of the night, Alec woke up to the strange feeling of the bed trembling and of something hot and wet on his shoulder. He reached out in the dark and touched Maurice’s wet face.

\- Don’t cry, love. – he implored, holding him – It’s all right. It will all be right in the morning.

\- I was mean to you. You were so kind and I was beastly to you… - Maurice was shaking with half repressed sobs.

\- No. You were just cold and tired. You have never been mean to me. Sleep now. Everything will be all right in the morning, I promise.

Maurice held to him as if he was drowning, his heart now full of blind, trusting love, and silently cried himself to sleep.


	4. Let me take care of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had done that kind of work before, and that day it was no different. Until Alec put his foot the wrong way and sprained his ankle badly. He fell and hit the ground quite hard, and didn’t move.

They were unloading trucks. Coffee beans, this time. They had done that kind of work before, and that day it was no different. Until Alec put his foot the wrong way and sprained his ankle badly. He fell and hit the ground quite hard, and didn’t move. The load he had been carrying fell too. Fortunately, it was nothing breakable and the ground was dry so there was no damage done to the cargo.

Maurice put down his own load and knelt next to him, worried sick. Alec was white as a sheet and didn’t move.

\- Alec… – he called – are you all right?

Alec’s answer was almost inaudible.

\- I don’t know… It hurts…

He closed his eyes in pain. The foreman came running.

\- What happened?

\- He fell… – Maurice’s answers were always short – and he’s in pain…

The foreman was not very nice but as soon as he looked at Alec he saw it was serious. Tentatively, he felt the injured ankle. It was already swelling.

\- Can you flex your toes? – he asked.

Alec winced, but nodded affirmatively.

\- Can you move your foot? – he insisted.

Alec did, with a painful moan.

\- It is not broken. – the foreman decided.

Then he turned to Maurice.

– Help him. See he sits somewhere inside the warehouse and go back to work. I did not hire you as nurse…

Maurice did as he was told. He helped Alec inside the warehouse and found him a place to sit. He even got a box for him to keep the injured ankle high.

\- You ought to wear a tight bandage. I have to go back to work, but at lunchtime I’ll tend to that ankle.

\- I’m all right. You go, before he gets mad at you.

Maurice looked around. The warehouse was dark and deserted. There was nobody in sight. He kissed Alec before leaving him.

Working without Alec was disconcerting. He was used to have him around, to exchange looks with him, to take little unspoken cues from him. Even when they fought and Alec was in those moods of his, Maurice still knew he was there. That was an awful morning and seemed to last forever.

At lunchtime, he sought a bandage from the first aid kit and went to the warehouse. Alec was still there, and still in pain by the look on his face.

\- How is it? – he asked, rather anxious.

\- If I stay put, it’s bearable. But I cannot put any weight on it, hurts terribly… And the side I fell on feels bruised. I can take it though, it's the ankle that's killing me!

Maurice knelt by him and took off Alec’s heavy boot, with some difficulty, for the ankle had swollen quite a lot. He peeled off the thick woollen sock, and carefully he felt the swollen part. Alec moaned in pain.

\- It’s bad, isn’t it? I’m going to give it a cold bath and bandage it tight, and then you’ll have to walk carefully on it. It will be painful, but it will be better than if you sit here for the rest of the afternoon with your foot swelling up.

He fetched a basin and the coldest water he could find, gave the injured foot and ankle a freezing bath and then bandaged the ankle with surprising precision. He helped Alec put on his sock and boot back, though he couldn’t lace it because of the bandage, and helped him stand up. Alec tried a few steps. It still hurt, but he could handle that kind of pain and even walk with a slight limp.

\- Where did you learn to do this?

\- At the mission’s gym. One can have some nasty falls in boxing, and sprained ankles and wrists were common, so we all learned these things after a while. Let’s go eat something, before lunch time is over.

The afternoon was a bit better. At least Alec was there. He was doing the best he could, but he walked slower than the rest. At the end of the day, the foreman payed Alec only half a day’s wage and told him he needn’t come back the next day.

\- This is not a charity. We don’t employ cripples. The tall bloke can come again, he’s strong enough. You lay low. With that limp, no one will hire you.

Maurice thought of arguing for a split second, but he saw it was no use. The man was right; no one would hire an unskilled labourer with a limp. They walked slowly home, a small room in a cheap hotel.

\- Alec, let me take care of you this time. – Maurice asked – For once, I know what to do.

Alec was too exhausted from the walk and the three flights of stairs to retort. He sat on the bed and nodded. He let Maurice help him out of his clothes and put his pyjamas on. Alec's shoulder and hip were slightly bruised, but the layers of clothing had acted as shield. They had tea, boiled potatoes and bacon for supper, and Maurice did the cleaning. Alec wanted to help, yet he didn’t let him.

\- You will need to take that swelling down. We can do that with ice, or cold water. And you stand as little as possible, so stay put. The more it swells now the longer it will take to be back to normal. I will do whatever there is to do. You rest.

Alec reclined on the bed while Maurice cleared away the supper things and changed into his pyjamas. Then, he felt again the injured ankle. It was better, but the swelling was still quite visible.

\- I’ll have to bandage it anew every day, for about a week. You’ll have to stay home while you are limping. I’ll have to search for work alone.

Alec valiantly tried to fight back, knowing he had little chance of winning. Maurice could very persistent.

\- You are not used to do that. You don’t even know where to go…!

\- You can tell me what I need to know. Though I expect the unloading we’ve been doing today will carry on for a few days more. I heard them talking about tea arriving tomorrow and I think it is cotton the day after…

Alec was going to insist, but Maurice cut his word even before he began.

\- Besides, you’ve wanted to work alone before. Remember that time at the hotel? You were ready to work alone because I felt bad for being treated like a servant…! You wanted to spare my silly _feelings_!

\- I won’t have you keeping me, it’s not right!

Maurice rolled his eyes near to desperation.

\- Alec, this is not a whim! You are hurt, for Pete’s sake! You can hardly walk!

\- And how are we going to live on just one pay?

Maurice climbed onto the bed and sat next to him.

\- I’m going to give you the answer you gave me some months ago. If some blokes keep a wife and kids with a worker’s wage, I can keep my man for a week. It will be a week, no more. Maybe we’ll have more potatoes and less bacon, but who cares? You’d do the same for me… – and he stopped Alec from answering with a kiss.

\- Maurice…

\- Hush! – was the answer, as Maurice unbuttoned Alec’s pyjama top – I’m going to take real good care of you.

\- Maurice…

\- Shush! – and he slipped his hand under the waistband of Alec’s pyjama bottoms.

\- Maurice, that’s not fair! I’m injured!

\- Alec, just let me take care of you! – he was planting little kisses down Alec’s bare chest while his hand was exploring in the most pleasurable way down there – I won’t touch your ankle, I promise. Just let me…

Alec called his name again, in a rather different tone, but Maurice was too occupied to answer back and soon there was nothing to be heard except for Alec’s moans and Maurice’s soft laughter.

Later, as they were nestling together to sleep, after Maurice put his pillow under Alec’s injured foot to lift it, Alec whispered into Maurice’s hand, kissing each separate finger:

\- I don’t believe this is recommended therapy for sprains, but my ankle feels loads better… Oh, I love your hands!

\- I love every single bit of you! – Maurice answered, each of his words punctuated by a kiss – Every. Single. Bit. Of. You.


	5. Roses in a water glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec counts his blessings and Maurice gets to feel beautiful. And there’s a few roses in a water glass as well.

As spring advanced, Alec began to feel restless. He missed the country, the green, the woods, and the quiet. Above all, he was tired of working and seeing no results. « _It’s pointless work! We dig a ditch and move on; we don’t even get to see what happens afterwards. We carry a ton of bricks and never find out what those bricks are for. We don’t get to be proud of our work!_ » He understood the need to keep moving, to never stop for too long in one place, but it made him edgy. He needed to see things grow, bloom, bear fruit. He needed trees, open skies, and running waters. He needed a sense of purpose in his work. In the last town they’d been working, a fellow had told him about this place.

\- It’s a big farm. They hire people about this time of the year to dig up potatoes and turnips. If you turn out to be good workers, you may even stay through harvest.

He was a curious fellow, this Tom. He was not rude but he kept pretty much to himself. Sometimes he seemed aloof, like he wasn’t even all there. Other times he’d be really nice to Alec, like he felt some kind of comradeship. That particular day, both he and Alec had finished lunch before all the other workers and they were having a smoke together.

\- It’s a good place. They don’t pay much, but they let you stay in these little cottages they have in the wood, firewood is free as long as you cut it yourself, they give you the vegetables they cannot sell and almost beg you to catch a few rabbits. The place is thick with them, they’re like vermin.

He looked around, cautiously, to make sure they would not be overheard. Then, he added, discreetly nodding in Maurice’s direction.

\- Cottages are tiny, but they’re in the middle of the wood. Ever so quiet. You can scream at the top of your lungs, no one will hear.

And noticing Alec’s frown, Tom smiled. His voice suddenly sounded hoarse, low, and terribly sad.

\- I know, of course I know. I’d have to be blind and stupid not to see the way you look at him. Or the way he looks at you. But don’t you worry. Your secret is safe with me. Only wish I was as lucky as you. – he looked again at Maurice who had just finished eating and was standing up, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension on his back, the sun shining on his blond hair – He don’t talk much, that man of yours, but he’s beautiful!

Alec followed the man’s look. He saw Maurice with lover’s eyes, but he had to admit that even in work clothes, sweaty and filthy, Maurice was beautiful. No amount of mud, or coal dust could erase or even dull his beauty. He turned and smiled at Alec who smiled back before asking Tom.

\- Ever worked there yourself?

\- Aye! Year before last. It’s a good place if you like the country. I cannot stand the loneliness though. The silence at night nearly drove me crackers. I think it might have been different if I’d had a friend…

His voice was still ragged, pain almost visible as if his words were a threadbare fabric. During those last months, Alec had never given a thought to the fact that there would be other men like them, and that most of them would be lonely and wretched. He remembered the older man they had glimpsed at the London hotel, and the look of affectionate envy he had given them.

\- Never had? A friend, I mean… - Alec felt the awkwardness of his question, and added – If you don’t mind my asking…

Tom faced him, the shadow of a smile on his face.

\- Yes, had a friend once, but it turned out bad. We were very young, very scared, didn’t really know what was happening to us. His people sent him away. Now, of course, it’s a risky affair, better not become attached, you know…Too much pain at best, too much danger altogether. You two should count your blessings! Come, the whistle’s blowing!

***

It was easy to get hired. Alec knew the work, and Maurice looked strong enough. After the last months of hard work, it was almost easy to dig up the first new potatoes. It was a backbreaking business, though, to bend over the potato plants all day, and carefully dig out only the small and perfectly round potatoes, that would fetch a higher price, without disturbing the others. The little turnips were easier to deal with and the workers were usually given some of the crooked ones.

The rest of the hired hands were married men who lived nearby and went home to wife and kids after work. They had been the only two to ask for lodgings. The cottage they were given was very small but had a big double iron bed and, as Tom had told Alec, was very, very private. They had to walk some half hour every morning at sunrise, by a narrow dirt road to reach the farm. In the evening, they walked home by the same road.

There were rose bushes by the sides of the road. They might have been cared for in the past, for they were not ordinary wild roses, but probably no one had pruned the bushes or cared for them in years. They were overgrown, and covered in beautiful flowers. They were lovely May roses that bloomed in clusters, white, with just the slightest blush of pink. The buds had a glorious beauty in the morning, and then opened in a few hours. The full-bloomed roses faded in a couple of days, but were intensely fragrant.

Some evenings, when they were walking home, pleasantly tired, carrying a bunch of crooked but very tender and sweet turnips, Alec would cut a few half-open roses and put them on the table, in a water glass. The stems were rather thorny, but he was careful.

They were there now, a small bunch of roses in a water glass, half-open, the velvety white petals just touched with a dash of soft pink.

\- Aren’t they beautiful?

May was well on its middle now. Dusk was long and warm, and daylight lingered around the horizon, trapped in small golden coloured clouds they saw shining through the trees at the edge of the wood. Still it was past eight and they’d had their supper. Alec was standing by the tiny window, looking out on the wood as the trees became darker. He turned around to look at the flowers and smiled. His brown eyes sparkled.

\- They’re lovely. – he put his arms around Maurice – Just like you… that’s why I bring them.

\- Like me? What an idea… do I smell that good?

Alec buried his face on Maurice’s neck, inhaling deeply.

\- You smell much better. But it ain’t the smell, it’s the colour. – he pulled Maurice into a deep, slow kiss.

\- The colour…?

\- Hmmm, yes… - he slid his hands under Maurice´s waistband. His voice was soft and loving, and slightly playful. – They remind me of your bum.

Maurice laughed, but was clearly embarrassed. His skin had tanned to a light golden tone, a shade darker across his nose and cheeks, but there were parts he had never exposed to the sun.

\- Oh, Alec, you say such things! – he blushed and lowered his eyes.

\- You don’t have to blush! It’s a lovely bum and I’m the only person that gets to look at it. The only person that gets to touch it. Not even the sun is allowed…

Maurice still felt his face rather hot. Beauty was a touchy subject with him. Clive had praised his looks once or twice, in the beginning of their time together, but after their fight, Maurice had not been able to ignore that Clive thought him repulsive. He had become terribly self-conscious after that. He had discovered, in a painful way, that it does not matter how you look. You need to be loved to feel your own beauty. Alec made him feel beautiful. Not just handsome, not just good looking. Beautiful. He pressed harder against Alec and whispered in his ear:

\- You have about three hours to get those hands out of there…!

Alec smiled, his face rubbing against the soft curve of Maurice’s neck, while his hands squeezed harder.

\- I’ll have to hurry then, won’t I?


	6. Precarious perfection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> War is lurking. But there is still harvest do do...

The farmer had greeted the workers with a little speech one July morning. There was persistent talking of war. There was going to be a war, sooner or later. He thought war to be a stupid thing, but he knew one could count on the stupid thing being the first to come to the politicians minds. He'd seen his share of war in Africa and was through with it.

\- I grow food. I have no use for wars. - he told them - The one thing I know for certain is that in war everyone loses in the end. I cannot stop you all from making fools of yourselves and enlisting when the time comes, but I remind you all that, in the meantime, there is wheat to harvest and fruit to pick.

There had been a rumble of disconnect words. Men knew not what to do. There were random questions nobody answered, and then there was silence. The farmer said his final words.

\- War or no war, people still need to eat every day. War or no war, there is still harvest.

Maurice and Alec talked about it that very same night, while waiting for the heat to subside. They lay on their big iron bed, all windows open, the sound of crickets coming in and not the slightest breeze. None of them had much use for war either. Only hopeless men have use for war. They didn't want to kill other men. They had been together for almost a year now, and did not want to separate.

\- They'll make you an officer! - Alec knew that much - You have been to University, they'll make you an officer and separate us....!

Maurice moved to rest his head on Alec, pressing his face to the warm sweaty skin to listen to the steady heartbeat. He didn't want to think about such ugly things as war and separation, yet he knew he could not will away the unavoidable. He sighed as he felt Alec's fingers in his hair.

\- What's it with your hands and my hair?

\- I just love it, it's so silky! I could do this for hours...

They lay in silence for a few minutes more, and then Maurice picked up Alec's concern.

\- If ever things come that far, I'll lie. I'll give a different name, I'll say we're brothers, cousins, whatever. I'll never let them separate us, never. But things will never come to that.

Alec kept running his fingers through Maurice's hair in a caress.

\- How do you know things will never come to that?

Maurice rolled over to face his friend.

\- Because we will not let them come to that! I'm thinking of a way... We'll see when harvest is done. There is no need to rush, not yet anyway. I like it here...

\- I like it here, too. I love the wood, the silence at night, the birds in the morning, the roses in spring... I love this little cottage. I wish we could stay forever. We could keep a few chickens, I could catch us a rabbit now and then... I wish we could spend the winter here, with a good fire, and lay in bed on rainy mornings, just cuddling under a warm blanket, listening to the rain outside.

Alec's eyes had turned unfocused and dreamy. He looked so happy and so beautiful, Maurice let him dream for a while. Then, gently, he kissed the curve of Alec's neck, and called him back.

\- I know. I wish it could be like that, I really do. But reality is war around the corner, and we have to deal with it.

They kissed hungrily as if the world was coming to an end. In a way, they both sensed it was. They were about to lose that precarious perfection they had lovingly built.

Decisions were postponed for a while. There was harvest . The farmer had a harvesting machine and shared the use of a thresher with some neighbours, but there was still a lot of work to do. The wheat had to be gathered and fed to the thresher, there was straw to bale and stack, sacs and sacs of grain to load onto carts and unload to the barns. There were plums, and apples, and pears to pick, carefully load into wooden boxes, and then the boxes to pile on the cart to take to the market. There were raspberries to pick and bring to the house to make jam. July ended. War began and many men enlisted. August stretched, an endless month of backbreaking work, stifling heat, prickled hands on the raspberry bushes and the ghost of the decision that would have to be taken always on the back of their minds.

Every morning they saw the sun rise at the end of the dirt road on their way to the farm and returned home in the pink glow of dusk. There were no longer roses by the side of the road. Now there were blackberries, the brambles entangled through the other bushes; big and juicy blackberries. There were so many they actually filled a bucket and made their own jam.

\- If the war goes on for long, we'll be glad to have this... - said Alec watching the bubbling pot like a hawk.

\- I'll be glad to have that any day!

Alec turned his hawkish eye to Maurice.

\- Don't you dare! Jam is to keep! - and then, smiling - Maybe I'll let you have a few spoonfuls to sample it... Now see you earn them, and wash those glass jars.

He stood with one eye on the jam pot and the other on the sink.

\- A thorough wash, mind you! Rinse them properly and them fill them all with boiling water. See you don't burn your hands, though... I'll need those later... - and he winked.

By the end of September, it was plain the war was not going to be over before Christmas. They had half a dozen jars of deep dark purple blackberry jam on the kitchen shelf, and the farmer had told them they could stay through winter if they wished to, but Maurice wasn't going to wait for draft. The time had arrived for them to make plans. Real plans.

\- We could just keep moving around. Nobody knows where we are, you aren't even using your real name, it will be kind of impossible to draft us if they cannot find us.

Alec stretched lazily. The evenings were already a bit nippy and he was nestling against Maurice under the bedclothes. He felt so good, he didn't really want to think about those awful things, though he knew they needed to. Maurice kissed the top of Alec's head before replying.

\- That would be just like running away. I don't like it, it sounds like a cowardly thing to do...

Alec looked up at Maurice. In the single candle light, his brown eyes were almost black. He was disturbingly beautiful, the dark unruly curls like a halo around his head and an angry scowl on his face.

\- I don't care how it looks, Maurice. Why are we to fight for a country that would lock us in jail for loving each other? Why must we respect their laws if they don't respect us? - he pressed his hot cheek against Maurice - I'm no coward, I'd face the whole world for you! I know it, you know it, and the rest of the people can go hang!

Maurice let out a deep sigh. Oh, to stay like this for hours, for days, Alec's lithe body curled in his arms, and care for nothing else; to let the world outside crumble under the war and just live peacefully! It was so tempting! There would be always some forsaken wood, some little derelict cottage they could hide in. After all they were just two men, who would notice? There were so many millions!

\- I know... I know that, Alec. But it wouldn't be clever nor safe. We'd draw attentions sooner or later. We have to outsmart them all. They aren't drafting, not yet at least, so we will not be breaking any law if we do not enlist. But they will do it. We have to make ourselves more valuable out of the army than in.

Alec was no longer angry. He was tired and sleepy. What could they do that might make them more valuable? Trust Maurice to know! He planted a kiss on the warm skin where his head lay and made himself comfortable.

\- Can we talk about it tomorrow? We'll do what you think is best...

He couldn't see Maurice's face, but he knew he was smiling. He heard it in his soft voice.

\- Tomorrow then. Good night! - his hand squeezed Alec's shoulder.

\- Tell me...

\- Love you.

\- Love you too.

 


End file.
